


As Luck Would Have It

by a_thousand_deaths



Category: Fence (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28469754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_thousand_deaths/pseuds/a_thousand_deaths
Summary: Seiji had never really paid much attention to fairy tales, Japanese or American, but he had always loved the stories of the kitsune.  Clever, mischievous, and beautiful, the fox shapeshifters could also be dangerous, especially if you were foolish enough to become entangled with one.Seiji used to wonder how someone could be so stupid as to fall in love with such a wild, untamed creature.He didn’t wonder, anymore.
Relationships: Marcel Barre/Aster Leventis, Nicholas Cox/Seiji Katayama
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	As Luck Would Have It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leloqier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leloqier/gifts).



Tweed was stuffy, cramped and crowded, the sign for the main (the _only_ ) terminal half covered in a forebodingly thick blanket of snow despite Accuweather’s promises, and once he got through the bottleneck of security Seiji claimed a spot by the window, even though it was much colder there than anywhere else on the concourse. The seat was ancient, composed of cracked and peeling pleather with something nameless and sticky on the armrests, but when he glanced outside, icy feathers of frost gilded the glass that fronted the runway, transforming the world outside into a distant snowglobe and making the airport sparkle, if just for a morning. 

It would have made Nicholas smile, but Nicholas was home at Hartford for Christmas, and Seiji’s father was away on business that couldn’t wait, and there was no one to nudge him out of his sour mood, so Seiji sat and stewed by the gate, swiping halfheartedly at his phone.

Not looking for any messages, of course. That would be impractical. He was toggling through his fencing feed, and checking his email, and reading the Times.

But Nicholas usually texted him at least once a day, and if Seiji happened to see it while he was doing other things, well…

_Nothing._

He sighed, pocketing his Galaxy. The flight to Richmond by way of DC had been scheduled to depart at 8 AM sharp, so naturally Seiji had been waiting and ready to board by 6, and consequently he’d been stranded staring out the window at iced over concrete for about five hours since. Even better, the sole Starbucks in the place was closed for reasons that remained a mystery, so he sat sipping his tepid Grab and Go latte and cursing the shitty wifi, which had just disconnected him for the tenth time.

_Could the morning get any worse?_

Seiji had meant that rhetorically, but it seemed it could, for at that very moment the intercom emitted a harsh staccato crackling, after which a voice intoned, dreary and monotone as if reciting a passage in a much despised book:

“All passengers for Delta Flight 385 to DC, please be advised that your flight has now been canceled due to inclement weather, both here in New Haven and further down the Eastern seaboard. We will be issuing vouchers to qualifying…”

Seiji missed the rest of the announcement, as he was too busy fending off a meltdown to listen. Ignoring the roaring in his ears, he scrolled frantically on his phone, trying to locate any other available connections, but apparently the nor'easter had slammed into New England like a freight train, and every potential flight from here to New Jersey was cancelled. 

The _Flèche the Halls_ _Tournament_ wasn’t until tomorrow at noon, but how the hell was he going to get from here to Virginia in time? Seiji had been worried about dropping in rank for the past month and a half; lately he’d had the worst matches of his career, the highlight of which had come when he choked in the middle of a bout at the October North American Cup. He’d been up against one of the Leventis twins, neither of which had proven any sort of challenge before, yet Seiji had snatched defeat from the jaws of victory, nonetheless. In the weeks since he had obsessively gone over each and every mistake, poring over his journal until his vision blurred, but he could scarcely redeem himself if he wasn’t there to fight.

The question was, would they cancel the tournament? The weather in Richmond hadn’t looked nearly as beastly as New Haven when Seiji had checked last night, so he doubted it. If he couldn’t find a way to get there by tomorrow, he’d have to withdraw from competition and/or forfeit, depending on how lenient US Fencing was feeling at the time. 

An endless array of factors were involved in that equation, most utterly out of his control, and Seiji spent so long analyzing every possible permutation that his phone locked itself, and he was left staring at his background: Nicholas in their room on Seiji’s neatly made bed, holding up a cookie with an arched eyebrow, mouth curved in a flagrant challenge, not a plate in sight.

_Perfectly incorrigible._

Nicholas had put the picture there as a joke the first week of class (he hadn’t actually eaten the cookie; even _he_ wasn’t dumb enough to get crumbs in Seiji’s bed), and Seiji had never gotten around to changing it, and before he knew it, he had unlocked the phone and was texting him.

**[Stuck at the airport. My flight to DC got cancelled.]**

Seiji frowned, his shoulders hunching defensively as the minutes ticked by with no response. Nicholas was mostly likely driving back home from Bobby’s right now, and--

His phone rang, and Seiji swiped up before the second note finished.

Nicholas being Nicholas, he didn’t bother with hello.

"This is the worst blizzard I’ve seen in forever. You’re shit outta luck."

"I wouldn't have put it quite that way," said Seiji. "But yes."

“I bet there isn't a single airport taking flights from here to Atlanta. You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked, and Seiji could _hear_ the smile in his voice as his own mouth curled instinctively in response; he fought it down viciously, even though Nicholas couldn’t possibly see. “ _No_ ,” he said sternly. 

“Yes.” 

“NO.” 

“Yes. _Roadtrip_ ,” Nicholas sang into his ear through the phone. “I’ve already talked to Bobby, so it’s too late to change your mind.”

The conversation went on for another ten minutes, but it was fruitless; no matter how much Seiji protested, his best friend would not be dissuaded, and so, instead of being trapped on the freezing tarmac, arguing over whether he should check his carryon or not, Seiji found himself parked in front of baggage claim for Nicholas to pick him up and drive the 10+ hours to Richmond. A road trip was chief among the list of things that normally gave Seiji hives, but after the horribleness of the morning the thought of seeing Nicholas’ smile, of being tucked up next to it in a car instead of cooped up in a plane cheek to cheek with a stranger for however many hours, did not seem awful at all.

 _I’ll never tell_ him _that, though._

In addition to being cramped and crowded, Tweed was about the size (and stickiness, thanks to copious tracked in slush from the morning snowfall) of a gumdrop. The East Ramp and West Ramp consisted of two gates each, and that meant Seiji heard Nicholas as soon as he stepped through the door, his sunny baritone slicing through the concentrated misery of the airport like a lighthouse through fog.

Nicholas should have been well on his way home, if not there already, but he’d woken up late, he admitted to Seiji with a sheepish grin, raking a hand through the disaster that he called hair. 

“No surprise there,” said Seiji dryly.

Nicholas laughed, leaning forward into his personal space like it was an alien concept, bringing the wildness of the outdoors with him, and when he got this close, even honing in on that atrocious bedhead couldn’t save Seiji from the inevitable. His knight in shining armor had on precisely one item of clothing that was not black, a green shirt underneath his leather jacket, that was far too small for him, and he smelled like honey and home, and for Seiji Katayama, it was over before it began. 

“Lucky for _you_ that I did,” Nicholas murmured, smiling that damn smile of his, and Seiji, cheeks tingling, turned and grabbed his bag and mumbled some kind of assent on his way to the Claims desk before his best friend could catch him blushing.

Seiji never used to blush. 

Even the cruelest cuts from Aiden, though they may have unsettled him, never _flustered_ him enough to betray him with any traitorous hint of red. He had dealt with far worse in France, after all. When Seiji had gone abroad and ended up snubbed by half the school, ostracized for daring to call out the resident golden boy on campus, none of their endlessly incisive insults made him bat an eye. 

_La pierre_ , they had called him in Paris, _the stone_ , for no matter what they threw at him he gave nothing back, save hard words and even harder looks.

But Nicholas hadn’t made him blush at first. 

At first, he had made Seiji afraid. Something about that sweet smile sent alarm bells ringing in his head, set him flinching from that outstretched hand like it was an open flame, made it impossible to forget that friendly face with those earnest eyes, no matter what Seiji had said when Harvard introduced them, and it had only gotten worse when he discovered they were to be roommates _and_ on the same team. 

That had been stressful all on its own.

But it was only later, after Nicholas had taken his hand easy as breathing, as effortlessly as he had taken to calling them friends, that Seiji began to realize the true extent of the problem. He had finally managed to reconcile himself to Nicholas’ friendship (not that Nicholas had given him a choice), and that alone was a terrifying business for someone who had never had a real friend... 

….but then there were things like the capture the flag game at the end of freshmen year, how Nicholas had claimed Seiji for his team right away, before anyone could say anything, and every time he thought about that, something deep inside twinged, like a broken rib that wouldn't heal, and try as he might to avoid it, Seiji had a sneaking suspicion he knew why, and it had to do with how he had dropped his sword during drills three separate and equally inconceivable times after he found out Nicholas had had ex- _boyfriends_ as well as ex-girlfriends, and it also had to do with seeing Nicholas kissing another fencer under the mistletoe last Christmas. Seiji had lain in bed far past midnight, eyes burning, staring at the ceiling while Nicholas slept on, oblivious, and everyone said it had been just for fun, a joke, so why did Seiji feel worse than when he'd lost Nationals?

Now Seiji fixed the cuffs of his already perfectly done button down, working the inside of his cheek as he stood in line to collect his voucher, and on his way back he bought a cool water from one of the kiosks and rubbed it on his face until every last trace of pink had vanished.

He made a mental note to be extra careful on the car ride to Richmond; he hadn’t seen Nicholas in two weeks, and it seemed like the long absence had made him more sensitive than usual. However much aware Seiji was of his relatively unique status as an athletic prodigy, he was equally as conscious, excruciatingly so, of his unfitness for any sort of serious relationship, platonic or otherwise. 

Nicholas as a friend (much less a best friend) was far more than he’d ever had reason to hope for.

To wish for more would be tasteless, and selfish, and foolish, because Seiji was under no illusions that he was anything anyone would want, if one left fencing out of the picture, and--

And most importantly, Nicholas deserved better.

When Seiji returned to passenger pickup, Nicholas was pacing, tracing his hand against the wall while he talked on his phone.

“Yeah, we got the Buick from Bobby, bro,” he was saying, grin equal parts crooked and wicked, with an evil glint in his eye that Seiji had long since learned meant he was talking to Eugene. “But thanks for the offer, I--”

Here Nicholas paused, hand dropping from the wall, arm coming up across his chest, fingers fiddling with the zipper of his jacket as his smile faltered, and Seiji picked up his pace.

“Nah, my Christmas was fine, Gene,” he said, much quieter than before, so quiet that Seiji had to strain to hear him. “Mom had to work, like usual, but I made her a real nice dinner and--I mean, she got home late because she went by her boyfriend’s, but it was alright, really...”

He trailed off, but when he noticed Seiji had come back, something like relief mixed with a queer sort of tenderness passed over his face, and then his smile returned, bigger and brighter than before.

“Oh! Sorry Gene,” he said. “He’s back. I gotta go.” 

Seiji’s cheeks start prickling again, the heat rising up his neck, but Nicholas’ voice had taken on its usual brashness, while the lady across baggage claim gave him a venomous glare which he took no notice of whatsoever, and whatever had conspired to make his light heart heavy, whatever had made him sound so unlike himself, had vanished, so Seiji considered the blush a fair price to pay, all in all.

  
  


*************************

  
  
  


Nicholas hadn’t bothered to fill up the tank or pack waters or napkins or anything any normal, practical person would have taken care of before heading out of town, so when everything was said and done, they took a good hour to leave the city limits, and as the Buick finally merged onto I-95, Seiji leaned his forehead against the glass, watching the pines fly by with a deep sense of contentment.

A bright, effervescent blue, Bobby’s car was roughly the size (and color) of a small whale, and though the heater had made a worrisome whining when Nicholas started the engine, it seemed on the whole operational. The highway had been plowed, they were making good time at last, and Nicholas was chattering away about some ridiculous place that they absolutely _had_ to stop in for dinner in Baltimore: in short, it looked like the day wouldn’t end up as the total write off it had appeared to be in the morning. 

Nicholas thumped the car’s dash approvingly. “I think she’s the same age we are,” he said, giving a pleased huff which swiftly turned into a hacking cough.

Seiji glanced up from where he had been scrutinizing the Waze app. “Nicholas,” he began, his tone tipped with a razor’s edge, and Nicholas immediately cried out in protest, although Seiji noticed the tips of his ears went pink. Seiji gave him his best narrow eyed stare, and he squirmed, reaching in the glove compartment for sunglasses to hide behind. 

“But I _did_ go,” he said, pushing the aviators up his nose.

“You promised me,” said Seiji, who had personally spent an hour last week on the phone with Nicholas explaining very explicitly that he would either go to the Urgent Care now, or Seiji would get Dmytro to pick him up and drag him there, after which Nicholas hurriedly made the wise and eminently responsible decision to drive himself to the clinic.

Nicholas reached around to the back seat, digging around in his bag with one hand as Seiji squawked in alarm, leaning over to take over the steering wheel. “Can’t it wait until we refuel?” he asked.

Nicholas laughed, which ended in the rumble of another cough. “Oh, you mean that pit stop you calculated down to the last second? What is that, like three hours from now?”

Seiji scowled. “Minute, not second, and excuse me for being efficient,” he said.

Nicholas crowed in triumph, sinking back into his seat to Seiji’s vast relief. In his right hand he held a small red bottle, which he tossed oer. “Don’t apologize. I like it when you get all precise. It’s cute,” he said, giving him a wink behind his shades. 

Seiji turned to the window to hide his flush, narrowing his eyes at the red bottle. “I’m not the one who needs cough syrup,” he said grumpily, and Nicholas giggled.

“Cough syrup with codeine. It’s _prescription_ ,” he said, eyeing Seiji with a shiteating grin, like that was supposed to mean anything.

“So?”

“ _So_ ,” said Nicholas, “I went to the doctor. It’s proof.” He was grinning so widely now that Seiji was forced to scowl harder in response, but at some point in their friendship, Nicholas had become immune to Seiji’s glowering, and so, instead of being appropriately cowed, he just started giggling again and then Seiji was somehow, despite his best efforts, smiling too.

He folded his arms across his chest, trying (and failing) to force the edges of his mouth back down. “Touche. I’m proud of you for doing the absolute minimum, I know how hard it must have been for you to act with the slightest modicum of responsibility.” He lifted the bottle in a mock toast, sloshing the syrup inside. “Congratulations. Now hurry up and take it.”

Nicholas guffawed, pushing the bottle aside. “You’ve never had codeine, have you?”

Seiji shook his head, squinting at the label.

“It’s a narcotic, Seiji! There’s no way I can drive after; that’s why I’m on the first shift for the trip.”

Seiji pressed his lips together, replacing the bottle in the drink holder reluctantly. “I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense.” He held up a finger. “But as soon as we switch, in--” and here he meticulously checked the silver Seiko on his wrist -- “approximately three hours and twenty five minutes, you’re taking it.” His tone brooked no argument, and apparently even Nicholas, thickheaded as he was, had some sliver of sense, for he merely nodded, not even offering a token resistance. 

After they drove past the state line it began snowing, fat fluffy flakes falling from a white wonderland of a sky, enveloping the car in their own little bubble, as they passed through the silent hush of winter safe and sound. Nicholas had moved on from peppering Seiji with questions about his holiday to a long story about the exploits of his mom’s boyfriend’s ferret, Jingles, who had apparently been lost in the apartment for the entire first half of December and had in the interim found a serious liking for Nicholas’ bed, where he liked to curl up between the headboard and the wall.

“That makes him sound sweet, but he’s actually pretty feisty.” At that, Seiji glanced over sidelong at Nicholas, for the words themselves were said with a great deal of fondness, and though he was ostensibly complaining, Seiji would be willing to bet good money Nicholas would be heartbroken when his mom inevitably jettisoned the boyfriend and Jingles was nowhere to be found, behind the headboard or anywhere else. 

“You don’t seem to mind very much,” he said, and Nicholas cocked his head, his eyes flicking up and down as he considered Seiji, a curious slant to his smile.

“A little prickliness makes life more interesting, don’t you think?” he asked. “Besides, you know me. I never could resist a challenge.”

For some reason the inside of the car had grown hot as an oven; Seiji’s face felt feverish, and he reached up, loosening his collar.

“We should stop for dinner soon,” he said, scrolling through Yelp with his other hand so he could avoid Nicholas’ eyes.

“Oh, you don’t need to find a place, remember? I’ve got it covered.” An ominous snicker came from the driver’s side, and Seiji blinked, clicking his screen off as he furrowed his brows.

_Why do I suddenly have a sinking feeling?_

When they stopped in front of the gaudily lit castle, complete with crenelations and a huge portcullis in the doorway, his worst fears were confirmed. Its twin turrets bore matching coats of arms, huge and hideous, an atrocious attempt at an eagle and a lion rampant, and families were entering one after the other like gumballs from a machine, kids screaming with a mixture of glee and rage (with the smaller ones the distinction was hard to pinpoint), and-- 

“Nicholas, what the fuck is this?”

Nicholas stood, back to the castle, spreading his arms wide to encompass the entire scene in all its wayward, tacky glory. “Welcome to Medieval Times,” he said, proud as he had been when he earned his spot on the team.

_Sweet Christ no._

“Awwww come on, Seiji, you can’t leave before we even go inside! I told you where we were going, and you didn’t say anything.”

Seiji turned back around, pursing his lips. “You led me to believe that it was a regular restaurant.” 

“A regular restaurant!” cried Nicholas. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Seiji growled, his mouth ticking into a tightly compressed line, and Nicholas hurriedly added-- “By the time we go somewhere else, we’d already be eating here. It’s more efficient this way.” His dark eyes widened pleadingly, sad as a kicked dog, and Seiji felt his doom closing upon him with iron jaws. “Please?”

He sighed. Nicholas had tricked him, and he should by all rights pay for it, but he _had_ also saved the day by coming to drive him to a tournament he wasn’t even in, and--

“Fine. But you owe me one.”

Nicholas pumped his fists, whooping in triumph, and Seiji groaned, but he followed him inside without any more protest, though he did try to intervene when his best friend stepped up to the counter.

“Isn’t this expensive?” Seiji asked, pulling at his elbow, “Listen, you went out of your way to help me, at least let me--”

Nicholas paused, something undefinable passing behind his eyes. “Thanks Seij,” he said lightly, sliding out a debit card from his wallet, “but it’s not a problem. Gene has a friend who works here, and he comped our tickets. They just need a card on file for their records.” He took Seiji’s wrist, tugging him along. “Quit stalling, we need to get our food now or we’re going to miss the tourney.”

“Heaven forbid,” said Seiji, but he allowed himself to be dragged into the castle, into the noise and clamor and insanity, following Nicholas’ broad shoulders and the clasp of his calloused hand, and in light of those things, the rest of the chaos paled into insignificance.

Unfortunately for him, Nicholas positively insisted on getting turkey legs, and what’s worse, he once again refused to let Seiji pay _anything_ for them. After they successfully got their entrees, Seiji spent ten minutes on a quest for a fork, Nicholas watching in silent amusement, until he finally marched up to one of the oddly dressed employees and inquired about silverware.

“Oh, we don’t have any,” the man said matter of factly, tipping the edge of his feathered hat at Nicholas in acknowledgement. 

“He’s kidding, right?” asked Seiji, and Nicholas raised an eyebrow, shaking his head, and it was only because he was so hungry that Seiji didn’t kill him on the spot.

“You knew,” he hissed, and Nicholas smirked. 

“A few crumbs never hurt anyone,” he said brightly, and before Seiji could respond to this idiocy with the scorn it deserved, he was already being hauled into the arena. 

Gene’s friend had scored them tickets in the front row, and to Seiji’s complete chagrin, as soon as the knights were announced, one of the champions reined his horse in before them, and, in a loud, booming voice, asked Seiji for his favor. 

“For my _what_?” he asked, bewildered, dropping a drumstick into his soup, but luckily Nicholas had figured out what was going on, for he snuck Seiji’s handkerchief from his pocket and draped it on the knight’s lance, to the crowd’s delight.

“Be still my heart, right?” he said, elbowing Seiji with a grin, and Nicholas’ uncharacteristic insistence on being on time, which had struck Seiji as suspect as hell, suddenly made complete sense.

“You set this up.”

Nicholas shrugged, brazen in his unrepentance. “Gene’s friend,” he said, by way of explanation. “I asked him if he could do me a favor by getting yours.” 

Seiji gritted his teeth. “You’ll pay for this.”

“Oh, I know,” said Nicholas cheerfully. “But trust me, the look on your face was worth it.”

But the worst was yet to come, as apparently the infamous friend in question was also an excellent athlete, breaking his lance against all comers, which meant he earned the Crown of Love and Beauty, and naturally that went to--

“I’m not wearing this,” said Seiji, wild-eyed, the flowery, frothy concoction sitting in his lap as the crowd roared, and Nicholas wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, which only made Seiji’s face burn several hundred degrees hotter. “Just for a minute,” he said into Seiji’s ear cajolingly, his biceps like steel from the bench pressing he’d been doing with Gene, that messy hair tickling against Seiji’s neck, and Seiji squeezed his eyes shut and set the crown on his head to thunderous applause. He only opened them after the audience had moved on to other things, fascinated by the falcon swooping above the arena at his handler’s commands, and once he did so it was apparent everyone had lost interest, everyone except Nicholas, who was staring at him with the strangest expression, the fake candlelight painting his cheeks a faint pink. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he said hoarsely, and gave an awkward laugh. “I knew if he won he’d give you the crown, and it’s supposed to bring you luck. I thought you’d get a kick out of it, what with tomorrow being the tournament and all.” 

“Luck,” Seiji repeated, his eyebrows to the ceiling. 

Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck, biting his lip. “You’ve been… anxious during your matches again,” he said. “I know it’s stupid, but I wanted to help.”

 _He_ did _notice._

Seiji yanked off the crown as a wave of humiliation swept over him. “Right,” he said, wetting a napkin with his water and putting it on his forehead. “I think I’m getting a headache. Do you mind if we go soon?”

“Of course not,” said Nicholas, and he didn’t press Seiji for any more explanation, just watched over him with a searching gaze that Seiji did not like the look of one bit. 

They left not long after, Nicholas waving a goodbye to Gene’s friend as he threw away their leftovers, but Seiji noticed that he held onto the crown, setting it carefully into the backseat once they got into the parking lot.

Seiji prayed that Nicholas would leave well enough alone, but he supposed he should be grateful that his best friend managed to contain himself until they were back in the car before turning to him and placing a hand on Seiji’s knee.

Instead, Seiji felt himself bristle as soon as Nicholas opened his mouth, letting everything rush out in one great, painful flood.

“Remember last year,” he said, “when we first started fighting as a team, and you’d do brilliantly, except for when you got stuck in your own head and worried about not being perfect all the time, and if, god forbid, you lost, it was like the end of the world, and I’d find you after matches freaking out in the locker room--”

“I wasn’t freaking out,” Seiji snapped. “I was going over the bout, seeing what could have been improved, something which would behoove you to emulate--”

“You were freaking out,” Nicholas said flatly, as Seiji stiffened further in his seat. “Near tears, and miserable, and I had to explain to you, over and over, that I wasn’t disappointed in you, I was _worried_ about you, because everyone loses sometimes, Seiji--”

“You more than most,” Seiji snarled, eyes flashing, but Nicholas didn’t even blink.

“That’s true,” he said, with a calm acceptance that made Seiji instantly ashamed of himself. “And so I’ve had to learn how to handle it better than most, too. I thought we’d figured out a system for you that made it easier.”

Seiji stared out at the darkened sky beyond the windshield, fidgeting with the seatbelt strap. “We did,” he admitted.

“You catch yourself from going into the spiral, before it gets too bad, using the different methods we worked on, and before your high pressure matches, I come and help center you, yeah?” Nicholas rubbed Seiji’s knee, hand making slow, soothing circles. “Start you off right.”

Seiji shrunk into the passenger seat, wishing he could disappear. He _hated_ talking about this, about how he got stuck in his head and couldn’t get out, it made him feel weak and needy and pathetic, and to be that way in front of anyone was dreadful, but in front of Nicholas?

_Intolerable._

Nicholas guiding him through various mindfulness techniques was one thing. That was in the same vein as Seiji helping Nicholas with his fencing. But the way Seiji responded to Nicholas when he’d sneak into the locker room before a bout, hugging him tight and whispering that it would be all right, no matter what happened on the piste, letting Seiji settle into his reassuring presence, absorbing just how good and natural and right it felt to be in his arms?

That was something else altogether.

Before Seiji had realized the danger he was in, it had worked like magic.

He’d start off what would have been his most stressful, high level matches, calm and yet strangely energized, the memory of Nicholas lingering throughout the fight, banishing his usual fears and worries. Nicholas joked about being Seiji’s good luck charm, made it out to the rest of the team as one of those superstitious pregame rituals, like Bobby making sure to wear his favorite scrunchie before a bout or Eugene walking into a rival school’s gym backwards before a match, but it wasn’t just that for Seiji, if it ever had been. 

Now, when Nicholas held him, it only made him realize, with a sharp, exquisite ache, how much he wanted to be in his arms all the time, not just for a joke, or for a friend, or for luck, but for always.

_And that’s something I can never tell him._

Nicholas peered at him worriedly, and Seiji realized that they must have been sitting in silence for far too long. 

He winced. “I shouldn’t have said that, about the losing. It was badly done. I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t wrong.” Nicholas’ mouth crooked up in a tiny smile. “And you’ve never been a diplomat. Don’t worry about it. But… I mean, is something the matter? You were doing so well, and then...” He rucked up his hair, making it even more of a mess than usual. “I, ah, I…” Nicholas cleared his throat, and there was an excruciating pause. “I can stop doing the locker room thing, if you want,” he said haltingly.

“No!” The word was out before Seiji could think, pitched far too high, and Nicholas’ hand stilled on his knee. “That won’t be necessary,” he amended, in a much more controlled voice. 

“OK,” said Nicholas, and his hand began moving on Seiji’s knee again. “No problem. And look, it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it with me, but will you promise me you’ll talk to Coach?”

“I will," Seiji said tersely, tight as a pulled hamstring.

_Drop it, for the love of god._

Nicholas let out a heavy sigh, giving Seiji’s knee one final pat. “Good,” he said, and reached for the cough bottle. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Seiji, turning the key in the ignition, and it wasn’t long until they were back on the interstate, Nicholas high and happy as a clam.

“I’m real sorry about the flower crown, Seiji,” he said, a goofy grin on his face.

Seiji rolled his eyes, shifting lanes smoothly and accelerating past an insufferably slow Acura. “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Nicholas agreed. “Wouldn’t it be funny if we did that before every bout? Gave out favors, I mean?”

Seiji snorted. “No. Can you imagine the drama? Jesse would have a field day.”

But Nicholas wasn’t listening; his head was tilted, his eyes far away and dreamy, and the grin had taken on a wistful tinge. "I'd always give you mine," he said softly, and Seiji’s hands jerked on the wheel, nearly sending them careening headlong into the median.

When his heart rate had recovered, Seiji cleared his throat before Nicholas could begin any more babbling. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep while I drive? You sound awful,” he said.

_And if you keep talking like that, I’ll end up totaling this car._

Luckily the codeine had made his best friend much more biddable than usual, for Nicholas only nodded without speaking, propping his seat back with the distant look still in his eyes, and it wasn’t long before he was fast asleep.

  
  


***************************

  
  


The rest of the drive was uneventful. Without Nicholas awake and making his usual racket, cracking bad jokes and singing off-key Christmas carols and the like, the car wasn’t just quieter, but chillier, somehow, even when Seiji turned the heater on full blast. The road reached out into the distance, leafless trees in empty fields of gray and white, and something about it made Seiji think of the endless days before Kings’ Row, when life flashed by in a series of blurs, when his days consisted of his tutors and Dmytro and the occasional rare sighting of his father, with a match or two tossed in for variety. Back then even fencing couldn’t take away the ache in his chest at night, when he lay in his bed all alone in the dark, and he’d never admit it to Nicholas, but Seiji had grown attached to his stupid nightlight, not so much for its ambiance as its indication that Nicholas was near, and he found it comforting, so much so that he’d gotten one for his own room, at home.

In fact, ever since they’d become roommates, Seiji slept better at school than anywhere else, and he’d been dreading Winter Break, for it usually entailed a flurry of sleepless nights, and lately even at Kings’ Row he’d been having insomnia.

His recent troubles had begun with a dream (with _that_ dream, no less) and ended in a waking nightmare, and as time went on Seiji had thankfully managed to block out most of the carnage that had been that final loss at the October National Cup. But there was one thing he couldn’t forget, a string of snapshots that haunted his days and kept him up at night: 

It ended with dark eyes on him, that ever present smile melting into a frown as Seiji began self destructing in earnest, Nicholas’ forehead pinched and his nose crinkled with concern as he tried in vain to catch Seiji’s attention during the breaks, but first (and worst) of all, was the memory of Nicholas running over to snatch him up before the start of the match. Nicholas had come into the locker room like usual and scooped him into a hug, his arms warm and strong around Seiji, fingers digging into the tension in his shoulder blades, and it was only after Dmytro cleared his throat that he reluctantly let go, squeezing Seiji’s arm one last time as if he could not bear to leave without a final touch, and then he smiled, and whispered in his ear his typical nonsense: “Not that you need it, but good luck.”

And that had been it. From that moment on, Seiji had been comprehensively _fucked_ , his every fleche foiled, his parries pushed aside like they were lighter than air, and before the first break he was down four and sweating bullets.

The dream he’d had the night before the tournament hadn’t even been a new one. He’d had it several times already, and he should have been used to it by now, but each time Seiji woke in the dead of night like a bomb had gone off, gasping and stunned and in shock from the blast, heart pounding, trying desperately to pull himself together and failing entirely.

In the dream, Nicholas holds him close like he always does before a bout, and wishes him luck, but there is one key difference--

His best friend doesn’t let go, but pulls Seiji closer and closer still, kissing him, hands sliding through his hair, mouth warm on Seiji’s, and no matter how often he has the dream, each and every time their lips meet sends Seiji’s heart into overdrive, waking him up in a matter of seconds, his skin prickling with heat, miserable and mesmerized, all at once.

It had taken Seiji hours of research to admit the obvious.

On the internet, there had been a quiz he'd found (after poking through many other, far more lewd ones) that purported to spell out the symptoms of attraction.

Huge pupils, copious and unnecessary blushing, increased breath rate, rapid heartbeat, each neatly enumerated in black and white bullet points under Seiji’s result: “ _Totally Twitterpated_."

Losing a match that _should_ have been a cakewalk wasn’t anywhere to be found on this list or any others Seiji could dig up, but he supposed he could hardly fault the creators. Even if one generalized the data point into poor performance, it was such a specific symptom, hardly applicable to the vast majority of quiz-takers, and restricting the pool to elite athletes wouldn’t work, either. The quiz would still suffer from a lack of relevance: most young, high level fencers scarcely managed to balance their schoolwork and their sport. They simply didn’t have time for such frivolous things as feelings, as adding any kind of relationship into the controlled chaos of their life was a sure recipe for disaster. 

Sadly, Seiji’s own experiences echoed that bitter truth; his feelings for Jesse, platonic though they might have been, nevertheless sent him into a spiral of despair and self-loathing when he realized they were not returned, and he had only just climbed out of his depression at the start of his term at Kings’ Row. 

If things went south that seriously when Seiji got rejected from an alleged _friend_ , how much worse would it be with a best friend?

_With a best friend I dream about kissing?_

Seiji supposed uneven performance could fall under the umbrella of distraction from daily tasks, but “distracting” seemed such a trifling word to describe what he had been going through.

Eugene playing Candy Crush during study hall was _distracting_. Tanner screaming proudly about Kally’s latest scholarship in the club house was _distracting_ ; and furthermore, once he got going Seiji had always been as focused as a hound on the scent-- his concentration was one of the traits he was most proud of, which was why it hurt when Coach had criticized him for it.

So no, Nicholas Cox was not _distracting. Distracting_ Seiji could work with. 

Nicholas Cox was infuriating, reckless, disorganized. He was also brave, loyal, and kind to a fault. He was short and stocky and smiled too much for his own good and his deep brown eyes weren’t _distracting--_ they were far more dangerous than that. 

Was a tiger distracting? Did looking into his dark, deadly eyes make you want to forget everything else, make you want to say things better left unsaid, make you long to be consumed, if that meant his hands on you? Did his gaze make your heart beat harder than it did after a hundred suicides, make your chest tighten and your cheeks red and you dream uneasy and aching in your bed?

No, the quiz had its flaws, there was no doubt, and this was just one of many. Sadly though, Seiji was quite certain the central premise was correct.

He was quite irretrievably attracted, maybe even in l-- _infatuated_ , with his best friend. 

The real issue was, what to do about it?

Seiji spent the rest of the drive deep in thoughts that went nowhere, and so he was relieved when it turned out that Nicholas was wrong, they _had_ taken the right turn back in Maryland, and they got there in much less time than he’d calculated, nothing near his 2 AM fears, though they did arrive too late to do anything but grab their bags and head for their cabin. Even that proved a stretch for Nicholas, who gave the owner of the Air B and B a woozy grin when she took his duffel, but did not protest.

“You’re lucky,” she said with a picture perfect smile. “It rarely snows here, but last night was a doozy, and now everything is _so_ romantic.”

Seiji smoothly inserted himself between them, plucking the bag from her hand and sliding it over his shoulder without a break in stride. “I’ve got it, thanks,” he said, and something in his tone raised those chic eyebrows, but she didn’t say anything more, just looked between him and Nicholas, dropped the keys in Seiji’s upturned hand, and left. 

The cabin was set back in the woods a ways, at the top of a small hill, and it lay against the snowbank, framed against the white like a present on display. Seiji had forgotten how pretty it was; he hadn’t looked at the reservation since he’d made it. He’d been distracted by the road trip, by seeing Nicholas so unexpectedly, and he’d booked it so long ago that he didn’t remember anything about it except that the pictures on the website made him feel peaceful.

And so when he unlocked the door, and flicked on the light, Seiji was ill prepared for the shock that lay before him, and for a moment he was speechless.

Nicholas suffered from no such affliction. 

“Seiji, where did you find this?! It’s amazing…” he said, standing in the entrance and blocking the door, openly gawking. 

Objectively, he was right. The A-frame fronted what was probably an incredible view when it was light out, and even now, with the plate glass stretching across the entire back of the cabin, a frame for the dark forest outside, it was gorgeous, the exposed beams glowing golden, the stone fireplace precisely positioned next to the sleigh bed, and there was only one problem.

“Where’s the other bed?” Nicholas, not waiting for an answer, unlocked the sliding glass door and wandered outside. “Oh man, Seiji, you gotta see, there’s a balcony and everything!”

He stuck his head back in when Seiji didn’t follow. “What’s wrong?”

“I reserved the cabin back in October.” Seiji had found the ignition switch for the fireplace, and he hunkered down, prodding at the coals with a poker. “My dad couldn’t come, since he’s out of the country, so there was no reason to specify two-- I-- I mean-- there was no way of knowing that you’d--” His clever hands turned clumsy, the poker hitting the floor with a thud. 

Nicholas cocked his head, smiling. “It’s alright, Seiji,” he said. “I don’t mind. I can sleep on the recliner, it’s plenty big enough if I curl up.”

Seiji dropped the poker again with a wince. “Absolutely not. I can--”

“Fuck no.” Nicholas took the poker from him, hanging it up on its hook easily, and then he flicked off the pilot light, leaving the electric fire to burn on its own. “You’re fighting the 4th ranked in the nation tomorrow, Seiji. What kind of a friend would I be if I let you out on the piste on next to no sleep?”

Nicholas’ hair was still disheveled from where he had been sleeping in the car, which make him even more disarmingly charming than usual, but Seiji wasn’t fooled: he had that headstrong glint in his eye that suggested any and all attempts at debate would be fruitless, and Seiji was too tired, besides. “Then what exactly do you suggest?” he asked irritably. 

Nicholas threw himself onto the bed, sprawling over the quilt and rolling around on the down comforter like a dog in mud, and for a second he seemed to forget the question, and then he looked up at Seiji with a smile. “Why don’t we both sleep on the bed?”

All the blood rushed out of his head, and Seiji swallowed, giving a strangled laugh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Nicholas settled himself on the flannel with a happy sigh. “Why not?” 

“You said it yourself, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll get up and wake you up, too.”

“No, you won’t, Seiji, I sleep like the dead. You know that.”

Seiji groaned, checking his watch. It was already past midnight, and he was exhausted, and the bed was a king, it looked like. 

_And I haven’t had the dream since October. Maybe I’m finally getting over it._

He sighed. “Fine. But if I wake you up at four am, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

But it seemed he was stressed out for nothing, because by the time Seiji got out of the shower and had put his pajamas on, Nicholas was fast asleep, curled safely on the far side of the comforter, and Seiji set a pillow between them, just in case.

  
  


*********************

  
  


He woke up chest heaving, face flushed, the vivid, visceral feel of Nicholas curling around him in his dream merging with the reality of lean arms wrapped around his waist, of a warm weight on his chest, and Seiji froze, but it was too late, because his thrashing had woken Nicholas, too, just as he had warned him it would. 

Before he could even attempt to wriggle away, Nicholas squeezed him tight, giving a murmur of deep contentment, and then, to Seiji’s mingled horror and delight, he nuzzled his face against the bare skin of Seiji’s collarbone.

“You smell so good,” he mumbled, sliding his hand under Seiji’s pajamas so that it was right over his lower back, and everywhere he touched went whitehot, and Nicholas’ devil may care attitude must have infected him, or maybe Seiji was coming down with something, because he stopped struggling to get away, sinking bonelessly back into the mattress like he’d been drugged, too.

“What do I smell like?” he asked, trembling, something thick and heavy in his throat.

Nicholas leaned back against the pillows, those dark eyes regarded him half open, half shut. “Like sunlight on the water,” he said. “Like my friend, Seiji.”

Seiji blinked.

_What in the…_

“You look like him, too,” Nicholas said, and he was smiling that smile again, and Seiji held himself motionless, poised, his heart beating as fast as it did before a match, and Nicholas reached out, hand gentle on Seiji’s face, soft and affectionate, the way he’d rested it on Seiji’s knee in the car, and Seiji opened his mouth, licking his lips, but, try as he might, he could not get a single word out.

“But there’s something off…” Nicholas studied him, fingers shifting in his hair, stroking it, sending sparks down Seiji's spine at every last movement, and then his smile deepened as he straightened Seiji’s part into something resembling order. “That’s more like it,” he said. “Seiji _hates_ to have messy hair, you know. He hates messy _anything_.”

_Wrong. I could never hate you._

Nicholas Cox had beautiful eyes, big and brown and terrifyingly sincere. The first time Seiji had seen them, matched with that dazzling smile, he broke out in a cool sweat, his stomach plummeting, and he snapped, spitting out something cruel and cutting, anything to stop that lightheaded feeling. It was the same feeling he’d gotten when he fought Jesse the first time and lost; it was the feeling he got when he looked too closely at something he wanted, but could never have.

Seiji stared at his best friend, taking in each breath slowly and carefully, as if he might forget if he did not pay close attention, and his throat closed up, but right before it did he said: “ _Nicholas_.”

Those dark eyes widened. “You’re definitely not him. He never says my name like that,” whispered Nicholas, his gaze flicking down quick as a riposte to where Seiji had parted his lips, where he was struggling not to pant. “Like he's in pain. Like he'll die if it doesn't stop.” 

Nicholas’ eyes met Seiji’s then, dark brown and dizzying. “Like he wants me to kiss him.” His fingers slid down, curling around the edge of Seiji’s jaw, and he looked down again, and it was like the dream, but better, infinitely better, because the palm on his back, the hand on his face, all told Seiji the indisputable truth: he was awake, and this was _real_. 

_Oh mon loup, s’il te plaît, je..._

And for one incandescent moment, Nicholas pressed forward, hand still tenderly cupping his face, and Seiji stopped breathing at all, his mind going giddy and blank, even the French vanishing, and Nicholas’ fingers traced over his mole, just like they had a hundred times in his dream, and--

And Nicholas raised his eyes, pupils huge and bright and fully awake, and bit the corner of his mouth, leaning back, and when he did Seiji’s side went cold, even though the fire was still blazing in the hearth.

“I-- I think I’ll sleep on the chair after all, Seiji,” he said, and Seiji watched him go, his heart clenching painfully in his chest, and it was a long time before he was able to relax enough to even entertain the possibility of sleep. 

  
  


***************************

  
  


The next morning Seiji was so exhausted he snoozed his alarm a record breaking three times. 

When he finally woke up Nicholas was already in the shower, so he went ahead and got dressed, trying desperately not to fret about the match, about Nicholas, about any of it, and failing miserably. When Nicholas got out he didn’t say a word about the night before, and though he was quiet during breakfast, once they got in the car he started in on some crazy role playing game he and Bobby had been playing over break, and it became apparent he wasn’t going to mention what had happened in the cabin, but Seiji was on tenterhooks until they got to the stadium, where he had something else to obsess about.

The Junior Athletic Center was in an older brick building at the center of town, and even though it was clear from the squat style of the architecture that it had been built several decades ago, the inside was well taken care of, big and airy and bright. The cables were all laid out neatly, the strips painstakingly positioned in their rows, and there were some fencers doing warm up lunges by the locker room door, and Seiji was already feeling butterflies in his stomach and he hadn’t even fought yet.

_Not a good sign._

When he checked the board, Seiji saw that he was up against a Leventis first, which, considering what had happened last time he fenced one, was pretty rotten luck. He was sure the brother he’d lost to had worn a smile almost as bright as Nicholas’, so when this twin came over to shake his hand, otherwise handsome face crumpled and dour, he was able to nod and say: “Aster,” with some degree of confidence.

“Katayama,” said Aster, inclining his head. “Thomas told me you were a little distracted in October. Hope you’re ready for a tough match, because I’ve been training like the dickens, and he may be technically more adept, but I’m faster.” Here his lips twisted, his face growing darker. “And I’m _ruthless_.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Seiji turned to see another Extonian behind them: Marcel Barré, who was shooting an apologetic look Seiji’s way.

“Sorry, he hasn’t had his coffee this morning,” he said, hooking a hand around Aster’s elbow and dragging him away, and Seiji could hear Aster grumbling in the background (“What does _that_ have to do with anything?”) as they went. 

The two made for an odd couple, and something about the way they interacted, Marcel running interference for Aster, reminded him of Nicholas, even though on the surface there was no obvious comparison.

Speaking of, his best friend had gone off to stake his claim on the bottom row of the bleachers. Seiji found himself scanning the room for that messy head, but it was nowhere to be found, and he needed to get ready, so he headed to the locker room. Since they had been running so late, he had it all to himself, and he had just finished zipping up his jacket when Nicholas turned up.

He hung back by the door, as if he expected to flee at any moment, his fingers laced together, cracking his knuckles one by one, and why had Seiji thought he wouldn’t bring it up again?

“Sorry if I crossed a line before,” Nicholas mumbled, squeezing his hands tighter together, “I was half asleep and still dopey from the codeine, but that’s not an excuse and I’m sorry. I figured you probably would rather we skip today, since I was-- I was all over you last night, and--” Nicholas’ face had gone bright red, and he sounded so unhappy, and Seiji had those hands in his own before he was consciously aware of it. 

_His fingers are like ice._

“It was nothing,” he said, as Nicholas stared at him. “And of course I don’t want you to skip. You saw what happened last time I had a big match.” Seiji swallowed; he knew that by saying the next words, he’d doom himself to another loss, but now that the moment was here, he couldn’t help himself. 

“Please, Nicholas. I want you to.”

Nicholas stood up straight, a fierce look in his eye, and he took Seiji gently into his arms. “If you need me, I’m here,” he said simply, and Seiji shouldn’t have told him anything at all, because between last night’s dream and waking in Nicholas’ arms he was starting to lose track of what was real and what wasn’t, and now he was tilting his head, and leaning down, and Nicholas pulled back, searching his eyes, and--

“Seriously, though, are you planning on forfeiting?” came the grumpy voice again. “The ref is about to send out a search party, but I knew you were back here with your boyfriend, so I volunteered to come fetch you. It would be stupid to drop out, seeing as you’re already here, but I certainly wouldn’t say no to a free victory.” 

Nicholas stepped back, the tips of his ears scarlet as his cheeks. “We aren’t dating,” he said stiffly, and raised his eyes to Seiji once more. “Good luck,” he whispered, and fled like the hounds of hell were after him as Aster Leventis rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not going to tell anyone,” he said grouchily. “Marcel likes to kiss me for good luck, too. The sweet ones always go for romantic shit like that, you know. But I really don’t see the big deal. We’ve been together for months, and it hasn’t affected anything.” He paused, with a fearsome frown. “Or maybe they don’t dare to say anything to me, but either way…”

Seiji worked a finger under his jacket collar, which had gotten extremely tight all of a sudden. “We really aren’t--”

“Then you should be.” Aster raised an eyebrow. “Though he isn’t my type, even I have to admit that Cox is adorable, and what’s more, _he_ clearly adores _you_. You and I aren’t the easiest to get on with, you know, so if you find someone that you click with, I wouldn’t be so quick to let it go. What are you waiting for, Katayama?”

Seiji had nothing to say to that, his head spinning with all that had just happened. 

_Could he be right?_

Apparently Aster had been telling the truth, for his own good luck charm-- gentle, mild mannered Marcel, the last person Seiji would have ever expected-- had noticed the grim expression on his face as they marched from the locker room, and came up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, and after that Aster’s stormy face cleared, his lip curled in the faintest of smiles.

_I’ll be damned. They really are dating._

They took their positions on the strip, saluting each other and the judges, and Nicholas had managed to score a seat right by them, and he was right there, watching, close enough to touch.

And the match went exactly the way Seiji had known it would, from the moment he relaxed in Nicholas’ arms in the locker room--

Atrociously, unmitigatedly awful.

It was like he was fighting in treacle, everything a beat slower than it should be, his reflexes filed down to a dull roar, and Seiji could not for the life of him keep his head in the game, not when it was filled with brown eyes and brilliant smiles and the idea that maybe-- maybe boyfriends weren’t so out of the question, after all, and--

There went another hit.

The hit after that was Aster taking his sword, and the one after _that_ was an attack in the low lines, and Nicholas’ face had gone white, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and when it was all said and done, Seiji was prying off his mask, having finished one of the worst matches of his career, and for the first time in his life, he couldn’t have cared less. 

************

  
  


Seiji won most of his other matches, but it still wasn’t enough to make up for his loss to Aster. He barely made it on the podium, and as he bent his head to get the third place medal he could feel Nicholas’ anxious eyes following him the entire time. 

Once the ceremony was over Nicholas wasted no time in taking them back up to the cabin, waving off Aster and Marcel with a tight smile on his face, and they were both silent on the way there, Seiji because he could not stop thinking about what Aster had said, and Nicholas no doubt because he was concerned about Seiji.

As soon as Seiji closed the door, Nicholas was right there, his hand on Seiji’s shoulder, tugging him down to sit on the bed. “I’m so sorry,” he began, before Seiji interrupted him.

“It was just a match,” he said, and Nicholas’ jaw dropped along with his hand. 

“ _Seriously_?”

“What?” asked Seiji. “Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me this whole time? That I shouldn’t put so much pressure on myself, that I need to be able to reframe my perspective so that it’s less toxic?”

Nicholas rucked up the back of his hair, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I mean, yes,” he said. “This is amazing! I’m just-- surprised, is all.”

“Besides, you don’t need to worry. I wasn’t fighting for Kings’ Row, and it won’t affect our standings.” Seiji crossed his arms. “It will only impact me.”

“I know,” Nicholas said, and smiled, a small, serious one, that Seiji had never seen before. “But _you_ should know that I'm always on your team, Seiji, whether you’re playing for Kings’ Row or not.”

_Mon loup..._

And for a moment, Seiji, faced with Nicholas’ sweet sincerity, had nothing to say.

“But my luck didn't work today,” said Nicholas, his smile fading, his hand brushing Seiji’s shoulder once more, his eyes worried. 

“That's because you were doing it wrong,” said Seiji, and he was trembling, but that was fine, because he had finally decided that that insufferable Aster Leventis might just be right.

_I only need a little luck to prove it._

“What do you mean?” asked Nicholas.

“Didn’t you see Marcel, when Aster came out of the locker room?” Seiji took a deep breath, his heart in his throat. “You hugged me,” he said. “But you didn’t _kiss_ me.”

Nicholas went very still then, so still that Seiji would swear even his eyelashes were motionless.

“And Nicholas,” said Seiji, struggling mightily not to blush (and, from the stinging that rushed over his face, not succeeding in the slightest bit), “I’ve been feeling very unlucky lately.”

“ _Oh,_ ” said Nicholas.

There was a brief silence, which stretched into an eternity, and Seiji wondered if maybe his luck had run out, after all.

And then Nicholas’ hand was moving, sliding up Seiji’s neck, making him shiver, and then his face was in between two very warm palms, and Nicholas Cox was loud and reckless in so many ways-- 

But not with this. 

With this, he was excruciatingly careful, in a way he never was, even with fencing, pressing his mouth tenderly to Seiji’s, hands steady on his face, firm but gentle, like he was afraid Seiji might break, and maybe he wasn’t too far wrong, because Seiji had gone breathless, his chest hot and tight, pulse racing, and if he didn’t know better, he would have suspected he was having some sort of cardiac event.

Seiji must have made a noise then, for Nicholas drew back, alarmed, stroking his cheek.

“All right?” he asked.

Seiji felt his skin smoldering, tingling, like he could feel every whorl of Nicholas’ fingertips.

“Yes,” he said, and Seiji tried to kiss him back then, but he got the angle dead wrong, twisting his head and whacking Nicholas in the nose, and Nicholas gave a huff of surprise as Seiji attempted unsuccessfully to vanish into the headboard of the bed.

“I--I don’t, I mean, I’ve never, ah, I--” he stammered, staring resolutely at the pillow, the fire, the plaid quilt, anywhere but Nicholas’ face.

“That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?” Nicholas’ hand curled around the nape of his neck, thumb digging into the tension there, and that gave Seiji the courage to say:

“Yes.”

“But that French exchange student, you went out for dinner and I was sure--”

“We didn’t. Do anything, I mean.” Seiji swallowed, still not able to look Nicholas in the eye, but his best friend deserved the truth, which was-- “I wanted it to be you,” he confessed to the duvet.

“ _Seiji_.”

The way Nicholas said his name sank into him like barbed wire, yanking his gaze up to where Nicholas was staring, and Seiji had no earthly idea what he looked like, panting and sweaty and flushed with fire, but whatever it was made Nicholas’ eyes darken and his brilliant smile turn soft around the edge in a way Seiji had never seen before, and now when Nicholas kissed him, it moved over him like a wave over the shore, fluid and fast, drenching him through to the bone.

“Your neck is so sensitive, I _knew_ it would be,” he murmured in Seiji’s ear endless moments later, time trapping Seiji in his arms like a bird in amber, stuck fast with no prayer of escape as Nicholas' mouth skimmed the fragile skin there, tongue tracing a delicate line down his throat, and Seiji made a sound like he’d been stabbed, and when Nicholas stopped Seiji felt himself go scarlet, his toes curling in embarrassment.

“Why did you want me to be your first?” his best friend asked against the side of his jaw, rubbing his nose against the spot he had just kissed, and Seiji had never had a sundae as sweet as Nicholas Cox, and he was sure none existed, in all the world.

“Because--” 

_Because you forgave your father, even though he could never hope to deserve you in a million years. Because you never let me push you away, even though I tried my hardest-- because you could see how lonely I was, and that I needed a friend, and you were too generous to turn your back on me, even when I was at my cruelest._

“Because--”

_Because when you took my hand that day at tryouts, you took my heart with it. It just took me a while to notice._

Seiji sighed, frustrated, his face burning, pulling Nicholas harder into him, and Nicholas squeezed him back, nuzzling his neck again. “Do you want to know a secret?” he asked. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for ages. I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t want to kiss you, isn’t that silly?” 

Seiji had absolutely no idea how to respond to this, so it was good that Nicholas did not seem to care.

“You’re an amazing fencer,” he said, in that earnest way of his, hand cupping Seiji’s jaw, and Seiji felt the flush down to his toes. “I’ve never seen anyone better.” Nicholas moved closer, until the tip of his long, slender nose was a hair’s breadth away from touching Seiji’s own.

“But I don’t love you because you’re good at fencing, Seiji Katayama,” he said, and he may as well have stopped there, for all Seiji heard was- _I love you_ \--- the words echoing endlessly, piercing his heart as clean as a sword thrust, over and over and over, and he was helpless against the onslaught, but Nicholas wasn’t finished. 

“I love you,” he said, “because you helped me get better with my technique, without even being asked, because you never miss an opportunity to complain about my mess but when Aiden made fun of me for my shoes you locked him out of the hotel for an hour, because you didn’t say one single thing about my dad being why Coach picked me for the team, even after--”

Shocked out of his stupor, Seiji sat up ramrod straight. “Of course I didn’t!” he said, indignant. “I would never--”

Nicholas rubbed their noses together. “I know you wouldn’t,” he whispered, and Seiji fell silent, his cheeks smarting, eyes dropped down to the edge of the bed, away from that dark, dangerous gaze. “And I love that you’re shy.”

“I am _not_ ,” Seiji cried, his cheeks stinging like he had rolled in poison oak, and Nicholas was laughing, a sweet, low sound, and Seiji could feel the vibration of it, they were so close.

“I love _you_ , my shy Seiji,” he said, and then they were kissing again, and it was wonderful.

  
  


***************************

They curled up by the fire after, Seiji facing the fireplace with Nicholas slotted up behind him as close as he could go, his chest pressed against Seiji’s back, and every time Seiji arched back into him, he held him tighter, and Seiji was so lightheaded he felt like he’d taken all of Nicholas’ cough syrup at once. 

“I booked the room for the rest of the week, because I wasn’t sure how long the tournament would last,” he said slowly, gingerly, like he was taking the pin out of a grenade, and Nicholas’ hand wrapped around his wrist, intertwining them still more.

“I just thought, it made sense,” Seiji said, trembling again, “we could watch that stupid movie you wouldn’t shut up about in the car--”

“ _Spirited Away_? I'd like that,” said Nicholas into his ear, his fingers stroking his wrist, and Seiji melted back against him, feeling like every vertebrae in his back had liquefied.

“And I want to see you in snowshoes, Seiji,” he said, and Seiji didn’t have to look to know he was smiling.

“Only if you’re lucky,” he said.

“Hey, and if _you_ get to feeling unlucky again, you’ll have to let me know. So I can take care of it. If it’s not too much trouble.” 

Seiji twisted around so that he could see his face, the sweet dark eyes, the teasing smile, and even though he was still wrapped up tight in Nicholas’ arms, he felt the same way he did when he was fencing at his best, as though he was flying, lighter than air, and nothing and no one could touch him, even if they tried.

_Ah, mon coeur…._

“I suppose I’ll have to endure,” he said, and Nicholas was smiling so wide then that it was painful to look at straight on.

“Yes,” he whispered, brushing his nose against Seiji’s cheek. “I suppose you will.”

And it turned out they weren’t done kissing, after all.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Don't anyone die of shock, but I actually completed my Secret Santa on time (?!)  
> Insanity. Also I'm sorry to anyone who gets diabetes after reading this, but them's the breaks, you know?  
> @Leloqier I hope this bears some passing resemblance to your prompt darling! Thanks for the great idea!


End file.
